


Love is Love is Love (cannot be killed or swept aside)

by ainewrites



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Abby and Erin never fought, Asexual Abby Yates, F/F, Pride, because I apparently write pure fluff there's some angst, but erin is still a small anxious bean, confidently bisexual erin gilbert, from me and this nerdy adorable scientist dorks, happy pride month!, no ghosts, phil is a grade-a asshat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-10 06:29:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11121747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ainewrites/pseuds/ainewrites
Summary: There’s a woman sitting across from Erin, clearly watching her. She’s come from Pride, like Erin; even if the rainbow flag taking up almost the entire left side of her face didn’t give it away, her clothing certainly would.-Met on the way back from Pride AU





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Pride month! I wanted to post this on the first but apparently I procrastinated writing it a biiiiit to long so you get it on the seventh. Oops?

The subway isn’t full. It’s not empty either, exactly, but it’s not packed with people shoulder to shoulder, and Erin sits with an empty seat to her either side. It’s strange, almost lonely, especially after the joyful crowds only an hour ago.

There are traces of Pride lingering on the other passengers; rainbow clothing and makeup, corners of flags peeking out of backpacks and purses, or knotted around shoulders like a cape. But there are those who are slowly, almost wearily, removing those traces, pushing them down and away from sight. Erin joins them.

Abby had offered to drive Erin so she wouldn’t have to walk home from the subway. The dark streets of New York aren’t the safest place for a woman walking alone on a normal day, and a woman walking alone at night still proudly showing off her non-heterosexuality is even less safe than that, especially lately. But Erin had turned Abby down, the guilt of making Abby drive in the opposite direction of her own apartment outweighing not wanting to have to strip Pride from her body, alone on the subway.

So she sits on the cold plastic seats and sets about removing anything that might broadcast her as anything but non-straight to any angry homophobes lurking in the city’s dark corners. She shakes out her hair, watching as rainbow glitter and confetti flecks the vaguely sticky subway floor. She pulls on a trench coat to cover her Love is Love t-shirt and tugs on gloves to cover her fingernails painted in pink, purple, and blue. And, finally, she pulls a compact mirror out of her purse, as well as a small packet of makeup wipes, and sets to work on her face.

It causes her a pang to wipe away the bisexual flags Abby had meticulously painted each of her cheeks that morning, but still she scrubs until her skin is pink. The face paint, tacky and pulling at her skin, smudges rather than wipes easily away, so it takes Erin almost the entire package to remove them. Erin can do nothing about her eyelids dusted with the glittering eyeshadow Abby had insisted she wear. She closes her compact with a small, sharp _snap_ , and looks up to find she’s being watched.

There’s a woman sitting across from Erin, clearly watching her. She’s come from Pride, like Erin; even if the rainbow flag taking up almost the entire left side of her face didn’t give it away, her clothing certainly would. She’s wearing maroon shorts and a black crop top, and that’s the subtlest part of her outfit. Her socks are mismatched, one black and coming up mid-calve and covered with actual rainbows, the other knee-high and rainbow-striped. She’s got rainbow suspenders on, and fingerless gloves that reach her elbows, striped with more rainbows. Erin makes eye contact with her, mostly accidently, but still the woman’s face lights up in an easy smile.

“You carry a lot of tension in your shoulders,” the woman says, and it’s directed at Erin, there’s not anyone else nearby that it could be. The woman tilts her head, wild, messy blonde hairstyle staying perfectly in place. Erin finds herself wondering how much hairspray that would take.

“Hello,” Erin says, a bit hesitant. She’s not really used to talking to other people on subways. Mostly she just stares at her phone, or reads a book.

The woman leans forward, reaching out to shake Erin’s hand.

“Jillian Holtzmann,” she says cheerfully. “Virgo, fantastically feminist, gluten- _full_ , queer nuclear engineer, and one hundred percent jazzed to meet you.”

“Oh,” Erin says, because she’s not quite sure how she’s supposed to reply to that. It’s a lot of information delivered very enthusiastically, and it’s almost too much for her already mildly overstimulated introvert brain to handle.

“Erin Gilbert,” she says, finally, after a few beats of silence.

“Erin Gilbert,” the woman- Jillian -echoes, turning Erin’s over in her mouth like she’s tasting it. “Your name sounds familiar. Have we met before?”

Erin shakes her head. She feels like she would remember this tiny woman sitting across from her if they had. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Oh. Maybe we have a mutual friend. Or, like, we share a friend of a friend.”

Erin privately thinks that’s unlikely, because really, her only friend is Abby, and Abby mostly lives in her little bubble of science and teaching, much like Erin. But Jillian doesn’t need to know that.

The subway announces the next stop, and Erin, still shedding glitter and confetti, gathers her stuff. Jillian, across the aisle, does too, and in a small group of people, they exit the subway. When they reach the street, Erin expects Holtz to break away, to head in another direction, never to be seen again. But, instead the woman stays a few feet behind her.

The streets aren’t empty, the streets are never empty, but they’re quieter than normal. Erin can hear Jillian behind her; the thud and jingle of her backpack bumping against her with every step. They go a couple of blocks like this, Jillian a few steps behind her, and it’s awkward. It’s very awkward.

There’s a gusty sigh from behind her, and the quick pattering of steps, and suddenly Jillian is beside her. “I promise I’m not following you,” Jillian says, shoving her hands in the pockets of her shorts. Erin wonders how she isn’t freezing. “I live this way. And, hey, if we’re heading in the same direction, it’s weird if I just followed you the entire way.”

“Okay,” Erin says, but it’s a relief, because she felt like she was about to spring out of her skin at the sensation of someone walking behind her.

“So, Pride,” Jillian says conversationally. “Great, huh?”

“Yeah, great,” Erin says, kind of uncomfortable, and Jillian seems to catch that, so she just keeps talking, probably in an attempt to make Erin more comfortable.

“Was it your first time?”

“No,” Erin says, shaking her head. “I go with my friend Abby every year. Or, at least, every year since I came out.”

Jillian’s face lights up in a grin. “Really? Cool! Me too! Me and Patty go every year, and sometimes we drag Kevin along for fun, although when we do I spend the entire time worried he’s going to see a dog or something and wander off and we’ll never see him again.”

“Is he…your son?” Erin tries, because it’s the first thing that comes to mind, but Jillian snorts.

“Kevin? God, no. For one, I’d have to have gotten knocked up while still in the womb, and for two, in case you haven’t noticed…” she sticks her arms out and twirls in place, nearly smacking Erin in the side as she does. “I’m gay as _hell_.”

“Brother?”

“Nah.” Jillian jogs a couple of steps to catch up with Erin. “He’s not enough of an asshole to be any of my brothers. He’s just Kevin. We met in college and he’s like a stray cat; once you feed him he never leaves.”

That only opens more questions in Erin’s mind about the woman currently half walking, half bouncing beside her. But she chooses to ask the question that’s been lingering on her mind since the woman’s eccentric introduction.

“You said you’re a nuclear engineer?”

“Yeeeep,” Jillian says, her eyes lightening up even with the casual air of the tone of her voice. “Brilliant one, if I do say so myself. Almost got into CERN.”

Erin’s eyebrows raise, impressed. “Almost?”

Jillian sighs heavily, although there are traces of good humor about it. “There was a lab accident. They say he’ll wake up eventually, but…” she shrugs. “He woke up the other day, screamed his head off for about five minutes then promptly conked out again. So I’m not holding out any hopes.”

Erin stares at her, a mixture of horror and fascination stirring under her skin. Jillian either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, and keeps talking.

“I’m currently holding down the fort at the Kenneth P. Higgins Institute of Science- don’t look at me like that, I know the school’s literal trash -and I’m pretty sure the dean has forgotten I exist, so…” she shrugs. “I get to create poofs all day and am paid for it, so a pretty sweet gig.”

She spins so she’s walking backwards, grinning at Erin. “What about you, Erin Gilbert? If I’d have to guess…I’d say teacher? You have a teacher-y vibe about you. Maaaaybe English, although I’d lean more towards History if I had to put money on it.”

“You got the teacher part right,” Erin replies, wincing as Jillian trips. She rights herself easily, seemingly unconcerned, and continues walking backwards. “I’m a professor. At Colombia.”

She mentally kicks herself as soon as the words leave her mouth, because she doesn’t want Jillian to think she’s bragging. But, instead, the other woman lights up with curiosity.

“A professor? Of what? What…let me guess…” She squints in mock concentration. “Oh, I know! You just _bleed_ hippie art teacher.”

Erin smiles, a little bit. “I’m a theoretical particle physicist.”

“NO WAY!” Jillian laughs in delighted surprise, whacking Erin on the arm. It suddenly strikes Erin how attractive this woman is; it’s a soft, messy, cute sort of attractive, all tangled hair and dimpled cheeks and nose scrunching in good humor, but still it makes Erin’s heart flutter a little bit. It’s odd, because she never really thought that “cute” was her type; all of her previous relationships have been with people who look like they come directly out of a stock photo. Attractive, yes, but in a bland, mildly uninteresting way.

“Wait a second…Erin Gilbert…” Jillian pauses, mid-step, and Erin slows so she’s still walking beside her. “I knew your name sounded familiar!”

“Oh?” Erin asks, a bit apprehensively, because often the people who have heard her name are rather unkind.

“Yes! Oh my god, you’re _brilliant_!”

That was not what Erin was expecting.

“And Abby…you said the name Abby earlier. Is that by any chance…?”

“Abby Yates-“

“Astrophysicist!” Jillian laughs, again, but it’s not mocking in any way. Instead, she sounds giddy, utterly excited. “I’ve been following your work for ages! Your theories on dimensions and parallel worlds…absolutely amazing.”

They talk science for the rest of the walk. Erin’s at ease with another person besides Abby for the first time in ages, and Holtzmann (which is what Jillian wants to be called) is remarkably intelligent. Erin would even go so far as to call her a genius. And she’s her own kind of genius, too. She pantomimes explosions and makes sound effects for some of her “babies” (machines) that she tells Erin about and never actually just walks normally; she struts or she jumps from crack to crack in the sidewalk or she spins around and walks backwards for a block or two so she can talk to Erin face to face.

It’s odd and quirky and endearing, and Erin finds herself _watching_ in a strange sort of curiosity. She wants to delve into this woman’s mind, because it’s clearly a constantly running, vastly interesting place. And that’s not all. With every smile or head tilt or cackling laugh, Erin’s heart does a strange little _jump_. It’s not unpleasant; in fact, it’s the opposite, warm and comfortable.

They arrive at Erin’s apartment too soon. Holtzmann shoves her hands deep into the pockets of her shorts as Erin fumbles for her key, rocking back on her heels. Erin extracts the key ring from her purse fingers brushing against the little can of pepper spray she forgot all about. The one she had promised Abby she’d have out when she walked home.

“So, this is it,” Erin says, a bit sadly, because she enjoyed talking with this woman. “Do you want me to call you a cab?”

“Why?” Holtzmann asks, confused, until Erin gives a pointed look at the rainbows still bedecking her body. “Oh. Nah, it’s fine. I only live a couple of blocks further.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, the teeth of Erin’s key digging into her fingers as she grips it. Holtzmann mutters something that sounds like _oh, fuck it_ , and begins rummaging in her coat.

“Here, I’m sorry if this is too forward or whatever…shit, I don’t have any paper…uh, give me your arm…” Holtzmann uncaps the silver sharpie with her teeth and drags the tip of it across the skin on the inside of Erin’s arm, just above the wrist. “Don’t feel like you need to call. This relationship could stay as “cool woman I talked science with on the way back from Pride”.” She recaps her sharpie, gives Erin’s arm a pat, and turns to hop down the steps.

“See you around, Gilbert! Maybe! Hopefully!” Holtzmann catches Erin’s eye, winks, and gives a two-fingered salute. Erin turns red. Then she’s gone, humming cheerfully as she walks down the sidewalk, a rainbow in human form.

-

After the crowds of Pride and the loudness of Holtzmann, Erin’s apartment seems very quiet. She drops her purse on the table next to the door, kicking off her shoes with a sigh of relief. Her feet ache, and she’s very glad Abby managed to talk her out of heels. She pads barefoot to the bathroom, hardwood floor cool beneath the soles of her feet, and stares at herself in the mirror.

She swipes a hand across a cheekbone, and her fingertips come away glittering. There are still smudges of purple face paint down near her jaw, and her hair still shines with rainbow glitter. She hadn’t been as good about getting rid of Pride as she thought, and it makes her oddly happy.

Her phone buzzes. Abby; the familiar text tone of her best friend loud in the near-silence of the bathroom.

[ABBY, RECEIVED at 9:21: you alive???]

Erin smiles at her friend’s concern, and types out a response.

[ERIN, SENT at 9:22: I’m fine. I got home about five minutes ago. Walked home with a woman also coming from Pride.]

Abby’s response is instantaneous, like usual.

[ABBY, RECEIVED at 9:22: WHAT. ERIN. Was she cute???]

[ERIN, SENT at 9:22: I’ll tell you later, in person.]

[ABBY, RECEIVED AT 9:23: YOU’D BETTER.]

[ABBY, RECEIVED AT 9:23: Coffee, tomorrow, usual place during lunch.]

[ABBY, RECEIVED AT 9:23: COME PREPARED. I want details!]

Erin smiles at the texts, and sets her phone down. She runs a finger across the shining, silver letters traced onto her arm, slightly smudged where Holtzmann had accidently run a hand across them. She picks up her phone, and after a brief hesitation, sets to work.

[NEW CONTACT: HOLTZMANN (Cute scientist from Pride)]


	2. The First Date

Erin has barely set foot in the coffee shop before Abby has her by the elbow and is towing her toward a table tucked in the back. A cup of coffee is forced into her hands as soon as she sits down, and Abby leans back in her own chair, arms crossed, looking at Erin expectantly.

“Okay,” Abby says, making a _go on_ gesture. “Spill. Girl from pride. Walked you home.”

Erin takes a cautious sip of her coffee. It’s perfect; double shot, cream, no sugar and a pump of chocolate. Sometimes Abby in an attempt to make Erin _broaden her caffeine horizons_ will order the wildest thing on the menu, which often turns out to be way to sweet. But she figures that today, Abby wants to know the story of the night before too much to attempt to give Erin a heart attack from a cup of coffee.

“Her name is Holtzmann,” Erin says, curling her fingers around the paper cup, warmth seeping through into her fingers. “She’s a nuclear engineer.”

“Whoa,” Abby says, eyes going wide. Erin smiles drily.

“And she’s heard of us before.”

“No!” Abby laughs loud enough that a few of the other customers look over at her, so she leans forward and lowers her voice a little bit. “Really? She’s heard of us? I thought only creepy pissed off manbabies have heard of us.”

“Apparently not. She called it absolutely amazing, and has been following our career for a while.”

“Erin,” Abby says, reaching out to grab Erin’s hand. “If you aren’t going to date this woman, can you give me her number so I can? Because I think I may be in love with her.”

Erin blinks. “I never said I was going to date her. Or that I had her number.”

Abby rolls her eyes. “Erin, if you didn’t find her at least a little bit cute we wouldn’t be sitting here having this conversation. Also, it looks like she wrote something on your arm. Probably a number.”

Erin looks down. There are still smudges of silver ink from the sharpie on her inner arm. She runs a finger over them, remembering the drag and catch of the pen tip against her skin. “Okay, yes. I guess that’s true.”

“So, are you?”

“Am I what?”

Abby sighs heavily. “Going to call her,” She says, slowly, as if Erin’s a particularly small child. “Ask her out.”

Erin stares at her coffee cup.

“Erin!”

“I don’t know how to do that!” Erin bursts out. “I mean, she’s really cute and intelligent but I never just get people’s numbers, and I have no idea how to actually call someone and ask them on a date! All my other relationships just kind of happened by chance! I mean, Phil was the one who asked me out.”

“Okay, first, Phil is an asshat and he didn’t _ask_ you on a date, he _told_ you that you were going on a date with him,” Abby says, pointing a finger at Erin for emphasis. “Which is still a factor in my burning hatred for him, by the way. Also, it’s not as hard as you’re making it seem. Just call her and say hey, it’s Erin, you know the scientist you walked home with the other night, I think you’re really cute and let’s go get drinks or something soon. Boom! There you go. Date procured.”

“But what if she’s not interested?”

Abby grumbles something under her breath that sounds a whole lot like _idiot_. “She gave you her number, Erin. Even if she just wants to hook up, suddenly you’re hooking up with a hot scientist who thinks you’re pretty cool. It’s a no-lose situation.”

“Says the woman who never “hooks up”.”

“Hey, I have an actual excuse,” Abby says. “You’re just psyching yourself out.”

Erin rubs at a stop on her temple. She can feel a headache forming, and she tries to remember if she refilled her migraine med prescription. “I just…I don’t know!”

“Do you have your phone? Yeah? Call her,” Abby says, and Erin looks at her in shock.

“What?”

“Call. Her,” Abby says slowly, the words excessively enunciated. “I’ll tell you what to say.”

She looks at Erin expectantly, and Erin hesitantly pulls her phone from her purse. She thumbs through her contacts, fingers stilling above the name she’s looking for. Before she can talk herself out of it, it she hits call. Abby scoots her chair around the table, leaning close to Erin as Erin puts the phone up to her ear.

Each ring sends a little stab of anxiety through Erin’s gut. She doesn’t like talking on the phone to begin with, and this? This is anxiety-inducing to the extreme.

_“Jillian Holtzmann, what’s your favorite color?”_

Erin frowns in confusion at the words that come with an exceptionally cheerful delivery, the voice on the other side of the phone vaguely familiar. Next to her, Abby grins, having pressed her own ear practically against Erin’s hand to hear the call.

“Um, hi,” Erin stammers, her already shaky train of thought nearly completely derailed at the unexpected greeting. “It’s Erin. Gilbert. Erin Gilbert. From yesterday. We walked home together. Or not home _together_ , we were just heading in the same direction. I’m the physicist.”

 _“Erin Gilbert!”_ Holtzmann’s voice is delighted on the other end of the line. _“I was hoping you’d call.”_

There was a loud clatter from Holtzmann’s end of the line, and Erin can pick up the traces of music in the background, although it’s not loud enough for her to tell the actual song. _“I was going to call you, but then I remembered I didn’t have your number and so I hoped you would call me. Shoulda thought of that last night. Had you borrow my sharpie. Or, y’know, just enter your number into my phone like most people do. That would have worked, too.”_

“Oh,” Erin says, and she’s utterly unsure of what to say. She turns to Abby with wide, panicked eyes, and mouths _help_. Abby looks like she’s choking back a laugh, and mouths _tell her you want to see her again_ back.

“So, um…I was calling to say…well…” Erin coughs, uncomfortably. This is unfamiliar territory for her, and she can’t help but feel that it’s going terribly. “I want to see you again?” Her voice pitches upwards at the end like a question, and she winces.

 _“Really? Cool! Because I want to see you again, too.”_ There’s a loud clattering from the line, and Erin catches snippets of swearing and what sounds like a fire extinguisher being deployed. _“Sorry ‘bout that. Small poof. Annnnnnywaaaaaays….”_ Erin pictures Holtzmann tucking the phone between her shoulder and her ear as more clattering is heard. “How do you want to do this?”

“What do you mean?” Erin asks, relief rushing through her, because if Holtzmann wants to see her again, it means it wasn’t a spur of the moment thing and she’s actually not interested. Erin doesn’t really think she’ll continue being interested, because woman like Holtzmann aren’t interested in woman like Erin, but she figures she’ll savor this for the (probably extremely short, one-date thing) time it lasts.

 _“It’s a first date, Erin Gilbert,”_ Holtzmann says, and Abby raises her eyebrows at Erin. Erin blushes a little bit, trying to ignore the smug look of her best friend beside her. _“Are you wanting to do the rich businessman trying to impress his date first date, the casual let’s pretend this is a_ second _date first date, or the two broke teenagers unsure how to do this whole thing first date?”_

“The second one?”

 _“Great!”_ Erin can hear Holtzmann’s grin through the phone, and there’s a strange little wiggling in her stomach. _“What do you say about Friday? I’ll pick you up at your place. Six-ish. Give or take like fifteen minutes because a neighbor of mine tends to walk their really awesome dog around that time.”_

“That sounds fantastic,” Erin says, truthfully, and the woman at the other end of the phone hangs up with a cheerful _see you then_!

Erin drops her phone with shaking hands. Abby’s grinning smugly, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed across her chest. Erin sighs.

“I know that look.”

“What look?” Abby says, still oozing smugness.

“Abby, I’ve known you since eleventh grade. I know your looks. Just say it.”

Abby leans forward, clapping both her hands on the tabletop. “I told you so!” She crows, smacking Erin on the arm. “I TOLD YOU SO.”

She says this so loudly that a couple of the other customers in the café look over. Erin feels her cheeks heat, and she avoids their eyes, raising her cup to her lips.

But she’s smiling into her coffee.

She has a _date_.

-

How had Holtzmann described this date? A casual let’s pretend this is the second date first date? Erin isn’t entirely sure what that means, so she’s really not sure how one dresses for a date like this. She stands in front of her bathroom mirror, self-consciously pulling her hair in and out of a ponytail. She can’t decide if she’s too dressed up or not dressed up enough.

The buzzer rings, and Erin pulls her hair out of the ponytail, and hurries to the door before she can second guess anything else. She hurries down the stairs even though she’s wearing heels because the elevator is slow, it’s only three stories, and also they’re shorter heels anyways.

Holtzmann is waiting, lounging against the railing, looking around in interest. She lights up when she sees Erin, giving a theatrical bow and offering an elbow.

“Dr. Gilbert,” she says in an old-timey British accent, and makes a big show of helping Erin down the stairs. She lets go as soon as they’re at the bottom (of all four steps), and tucks her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “You’re looking snazzy.”

“Thanks,” Erin says, fighting to keep from adjusting her clothing. “You look…uh…snazzy, also.”

She’s wearing baggy, striped pants that end just below her knees, a t-shirt that’s gray with bright splashes of color, a red smoking jacket, combat boots, unlaced and with unmatching socks, and, bizarrely, a pair of googles hold back her hair, large and yellow-lensed. It’s an eccentric look, but it’s strangely endearing, and Erin has to admit she pulls off the look well. Very well.

“I love the tiny bow-tie,” Holtzmann says, pulling open the passenger side door of a waiting car (that looks suspiciously like a hearse), illegally parked in the fire lane. Erin’s hand flutters to the bow-tie as she climbs into the car.

“It came with the shirt,” she says defensively, and a corner of Holtzmann’s mouth quirks up.

“It’s cute. I like it.” She clambers into the driver’s seat, and wraps her hands around the steering wheel like she’s a racecar driver. Erin looks around the car, takes in the interior of red and black leather, the single row of seats, the strangely wide open back, and her jaw drops. This car doesn’t just look like a hearse. It was a hearse.

Holtzmann seems to have been waiting for that particular reaction, because she waves a hand. “I borrowed it from Patty, her uncle runs a funeral home, and she was borrowing it from him. So I borrowed it from her. She was using it to move.”

“A hearse?” Erin croaks, and an awful thought crosses through her mind. “You’re not…you’re not going to…?”

“Brutally murder you and throw your body in a ravine somewhere?” Holtzmann says easily, as she merges into the traffic so quickly and violently Erin clutches at the door handle. “Nah. That’s a white dude you met on Tinder thing. So, you can put away your pepper spray. And, trust me, it’d be just as painful for _you_ as it would be for _me_.”

She grins at Erin, taking her eyes off the road, and Erin nearly has a heart attack as Holtzmann almost mows down a pedestrian unlucky enough to be attempting to cross the street in front of them. With one hand, she flicks on the radio to a classic rock station, and they spend the rest of the ride not talking. Erin fiddles with a loose thread on her skirt, and Holtzmann hums along to the music, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel to the beat.

The ride is short, and pretty much as soon as they’re parked, Holtzmann scrambles form her side of the car to Erin’s in order to open the door for her. That makes Erin blush, for some reason, which makes Holtzmann smile.

She takes Erin to a pizza place. Erin is a little disappointed, at first, because she eats pizza a lot, but then she steps inside. She’s instantly hit with the smell of tomato sauce and melting cheese and smoky, brick ovens, and her mouth waters. The interior is all sleek stainless steel and wooden tables, and the menu is written on a chalkboard. Hipster, yes, but not overly so.

“Several questions,” Holtzmann says from beside her, and Erin glances over, a little startled. Holtzmann tilts her head. “First, are you on any special diets? Vegan? Gluten free? Any allergies? Deep dark intense dislike of anything that people consider edible but you consider not so?”

“Oh,” Erin says, slightly surprised. “Um, no, pistachios, and I don’t really like marzipan.”

Holtzmann nods, thoughtfully. “I’ll stay away from pistachio-marzipan pizza, then.” She makes a shooing motion with her hands, stepping into the line. “Go find us a table. I’ll meet you once we order.”

It only takes a few minutes for Holtzmann to appear at the booth against the window. She plops a soda cup in front of Erin (“I got you Sprite, hope you don’t mind.”), and slides into the seat across from her.

“This place is delicious, trust me,” She promises, stretching out so she takes up the entirety of her side. She props an elbow on the table, and smiles at Erin. “So, in the name of this being a first date we’re pretending is a second, let’s skip over all the boring first date stuff. Favorite color, professions, where we live, shit like that. Let’s delve into the interesting stuff.”

“Interesting stuff?” Erin echoes, slightly concerned. She isn’t sure if she has any interesting stuff to share, and there’s a low rumble of anxiety low in her belly, because she doesn’t want to seem boring in front of Holtzmann, because she gets the feeling that Holtzmann is a very interesting person.

“You know,” Holtzmann says with a vague gesture. “What’s one item you’d like to have with you during the zombie apocalypse. Weirdest picture you have on your phone. Who triggered your gay awakening. Unpopular opinion on a popular show. All the good stuff.”

Erin laughs, a little bit. “I can honestly say I’ve never been asked any of those questions before, let alone on a second date.”

Holtzmann waggles her eyebrows. “You’re in uncharted territory with me, Erin.” She plops her chin into her hand, and looks at Erin expectantly.

Erin laughs, again, this time less uncomfortably. “Okay. Uh…a swiss army knife, I guess…”

“A woman after my own heart. No woman should walk around unarmed.”

Erin looks down, smiling, cheeks tinging pink. “Yeah. Swiss army knife. I think I have a picture of a pigeon that Abby sent me that’s supposedly always looking in her windows that I just never deleted. Carrie Fisher as Princess Leia, and I think Game of Thrones is super overrated.”

“Ooo, aiming to rile up the fantasy fans there, Gilbert?”

Erin stirs her soda with the straw, ice clinking against the plastic cup. “It’s just…everyone is awful and nothing is really connected and…well…allthesexisforthemalegaze,” She mumbles, face growing hot. Holtzmann smirks.

“What about you?” Erin asks, eager to change the subject, and Holtzmann leans back in her seat, throwing her arm across the back of the booth.

“My blowtorches, a piece of fabric on the street I thought looked like a roadkill rat and had to show Patty, Gillian Anderson, or Scully, I guess, choose either, and Red Dwarf can totally kick Doctor Who’s ass.”

Erin perks up. There are many interesting things in that string of facts Holtzmann just easily rattled off, but she picks out a specific one.

“X-Files? You watched X-Files?” She asks, eagerly, and Holtzmann grins, nodding.

“Of course I did!” She says. “Scully and Mulder were like my gods. I used to sneak down into the basement and watch them when my mom was in the shower. She thought they were too scary for me, but god, I loved them. And Scully…well…” her grin instantly turns suggestive. “Let’s just say that’s how my mom found out I was gay.” She leans forward, biting the straw sticking out of her drink. “And I’m assuming you watched it, too, by your enthusiastic question?”

Erin nods. “Yeah. Abby and I watched every episode. Even if we were absolutely swamped in homework, we watched it.”

“You and Abby have been friends that long?”

“Yeah. Since eleventh grade.” Erin traces the rim of her cup with a fingertip. “Neither of us were exactly swimming in friends. I used to have night terrors; really, really bad ones. And I’d never remember them when I woke up, I’d just wake up and I’d be drenched in sweat and feeling sick and just screaming. My parents set me to therapy, and someone at school found out, and, well…”

“Kids are cruel,” Holtzmann says, nodding.

Erin shrugs. “And Abby had just moved into town, and she was unashamedly a science nerd, and thanks to random seat assignments, we ended up next to each other, and we clicked.”

Holtzmann nods. “I get that. Not the night terrors thing, but the not swimming in friends thing. I mean, my mom was great, but I was extremely intelligent and skipped several grades in school and was taking classes at the community college by the time I was thirteen, and middle schoolers don’t want to be friends with the girl who goes to college and builds robots in her garage, and eighteen-year-olds going to college don’t want to be friends with the tiny thirteen-year-old who sits in the front of every class.”

“So what did you do?”

It’s Holtzmann’s turn to shrug. “I dunno. I just kind of powered through it. I watched the X-Files and read every book I could get my hands on and threw myself into my projects. I met Patty in my first year at MIT, and Kevin a few years later, and, well, here I am.” She spreads her arms wide, gives a quick little bobbing bow while still sitting down.

It’s at this moment that the pizza comes, and it’s delicious, just as Holtzmann promised, so talking fades into eating quietly, but it’s a comfortable silence, not long and stretching like the ones on other first dates Erin had been on. At one point, she glances up to find Holtzmann watching her, and when they make eye contact, Holtzmann winks, teeth firmly clamped down on her straw, and Erin smiles shyly, cheeks flushing so slightly. There’s a warmth in her stomach, comfortable and present, and Erin isn’t quite sure what it is or why it’s there, she only knows that she likes it.

About halfway through the meal, Erin’s phone buzzes, and she glances down at it.

[ABBY, RECEIVED AT 7:36: HOW’S THE DATE GOING? Where’d you go? IS SHE STILL CUTE?]

[ABBY, RECEIVED AT 7:36: Tell her that I want to know her intentions with dating you.]

[ABBY, RECEIVED AT 7:37: Is being dad-friend a thing??? If so I’m your dad friend and I want to talk to anyone who wants to date my daughter!]

Erin rolls her eyes, and at Holtzmann’s questioning look, explains.

“It’s Abby,” she says, turning her phone off. “She wants to meet you.”

“I want to meet her, too,” Holtzmann says, “Partly because of the fact I’m dating you, but also because of the brilliant astrophysicist thing.”

 _Dating you_. The words cause the warmth to grow, because it implies there’s going to be a second date. And Erin rarely goes on second dates.

Holtzmann holds up a finger. “Wait! I have an idea. There’s this theater that’s playing a different queer movie every night of June, and they’re doing Carol tomorrow, and Patty and I were going to go. Do you and Abby want to join us?” She grins. “We could meet the best friends at once while eating popcorn and watching movie lesbians. What could go wrong?”

“That sounds…really great, actually,” Erin says, and it does. “I’m sure I can get Abby to go.”

“Great!” Holtzmann says. “It’s a plan.”

And it is.

They finish their meal and slide out of the booth, Erin making a mental note of the name of restaurant so she can take Abby sometime, and step out onto the sidewalk. Erin declines Holtzmann’s offer of a ride home, saying that she doesn’t want to inconvenience her, but really finding both the thought of Holtzmann’s wild driving and riding in a hearse (which makes her skin crawl to think about) too much, and says that she’ll call an uber.

Holtzmann looks disappointed, but nods. Erin still walks her back to the car, and Holtzmann smiles.

“See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow,” Erin confirms, and Holtzmann, so quickly that Erin barely has time to register it, stretches up on her toes and presses a quick, barely-there kiss to Erin’s cheek. Erin stands, frozen, on the sidewalk as Holtzmann half walks, half dances around to the driver’s seat of the car.

Just before Holtzmann is about to pull away, Erin unfreezes.

“Wait!” She cries, rushing forward, fumbling in her purse. She leans into the open passenger side window, passing Holtzmann a small, square piece of cardstock.

“Here’s my number.”

Holtzmann takes her car, and flips it over, grinning at the _call me_ Erin had hastily scrawled on the back.

“Will do, Gilbert!” She says, and gives Erin a two-fingered salute. Then she peels out into traffic, and Erin followers her progress down the road in loud classic rock and blaring horns.

She gives a little laugh and spins in a quick circle, giddy despite herself. The fresh air feels good, and there’s a strange, eager energy infecting her, so she walks back to her apartment.

Her cheeks hurt from smiling when she finally gets back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS TURNING OUT WAY LONGER THAN I EXPECTED. This was only supposed to be four chapters, but somehow I'm writing 3k+ words of their first date and this chapter was supposed to cover their first date and a couple of other events, but nooo, my muse grabbed hold and now it's looking like this will be AT LEAST a six-chapter 'fic, possibly more.
> 
> Oops?
> 
> Anyways, if you're in the mood to come and talk about adorable gay scientists, delicious food, or writerly things, come say hi on [Tumblr](https://ainewrites.tumblr.com/)! I love seeing you guys elsewhere on the internet.


	3. The First Kiss

“I swear, if you two get all lovey-dovey I’m leaving,” Abby mutters from her place beside Erin. They’re waiting outside the theater for Holtzmann and Patty, and Abby’s already irritated because New York hasn’t yet decided if it’s Spring yet or not, and the breeze is cold. Abby hates being cold, hates it with a deep and burning passion. Erin glances over at her to see she’s scowling, and has pulled her hands inside her sleeves.

“It’s been one date, Abby,” Erin says, and there’s not any embarrassment in her tone because she knows Abby’s just feeling to need to complain. She spots a now-familiar head of wild blonde curls down the street, and waves. Abby stretches on her tiptoes.

“Huh,” Erin hears her say, quietly. “She’s shorter than I thought she’d be.” At Erin’s look, Abby hurries to defend herself. “I mean, you make her personality seem so big, so I thought she’d be at least taller than you. Not that that’s hard.”

“Okay, one, I’m an average height, thank you, and two, says the woman shorter than me.”

Abby laughs, and that’s that, because Holtzmann and a tall woman in spectacularly red heels have reached them.

“Erin!” Holtzmann says, and slings her arm around Erin’s shoulders. The physical contact makes Erin jump, first, but then she relaxes against the touch. Holtzmann smiles at her, glancing over out of the corner of her eye, and makes a list of rapid fire introductions.

“Erin, Patty, Patty, Erin. Patty, Erin is the hot girl I met on the way back from pride that I am now dating. Erin, Patty is the world’s best history professor who I forced into being by best friend. You-“ She points at Abby, who raises and eyebrow and waits. “Must be Abby, astrophysicist, Erin’s best friend slash research partner slash wingman, from what I’ve heard, and I…” she pauses, dramatically. “Am Jillian Holtzmann.”

She takes in a deep breath, apparently not having stopped to breathe throughout the string of sentences, and flashes a grin. “Now. Let’s go watch a gay movie, shall we?”

-

This should be uncomfortable, Erin thinks. She’s sort of on a date, after all, with her best friend beside her and her date’s best friend on their other side, but it’s nice. Sure, the couple in front of them is making out through half the movie and the floors are sticky, the seats old and creaky, but it’s nice.

She likes Patty, likes the cheerful, smiling woman a lot, and as it turns out, she and Abby know each other. Know may be a bit of a stretch; they work at the same college, yes, and have passed each other in the halls, but Abby’s path across the college is lab-lecture hall-office-lecture hall-lab, and she never strays from it, even to talk to others. She’s worked at the college for almost five years and still barely even remembers the name of the dean, let alone her fellow professors, brain always too caught up in _science_ to make friends.

But Abby and Patty hit it off, and they both enough gossip about life on their campus to have some connections, there, and Erin’s glad. She worried about them feeling like they were being left out, or feeling like they were third wheeling. But they seem to be getting along fine, and Abby and Holtzmann get along well, too, so Erin lets herself relax.

They go all out with snacks; popcorn and candy and soda (Holtzmann buys the biggest one they have. Erin thinks it may be a joke but she’s not quite sure), and, finally, find themselves in the dark, mildly crowded movie theater.

She and Holtzmann are sharing an armrest. Abby’s exhausted. Erin didn’t know it until a little before the movie started and she was complaining about how tired she was, but apparently she pulled an all-nighter grading papers. So, she’s asleep, now, the darkness of the theater pulling her under pretty much as soon as the lights dimmed, propped up on the armrest between her and Erin, breathing deeply. Erin, careful not to wake her, has in turn shifted closer to her other side, and therefor closer to Holtzmann.

Erin is finding is hard to concentrate on the movie because of this. Holtzmann smells nice, that’s the first thing she notices. Like vanilla and cinnamon, somewhere between a cologne and a perfume. She also notices that Holtzmann is very expressive when she watches movies. She’ll make little gasping noises of delight or surprise, mouths _no_ at sad parts and smile, huge and beaming, at happy parts. Erin finds it irresistibly adorable.

And, they’re sharing the same armrest. Every time either of them move, their elbows bump, and it’s like a tiny, electric shock shoots through Erin’s veins. She tries to pay attention to the movie, she really, really does, but the woman sitting next to her is just so distracting.

When the lights switch bag on, Holtzmann stretches beside her, arms over her head, shirt riding up her stomach, and Erin’s eyes are drawn to the exposed strip of smooth skin. She yanks her eyes away before Holtzmann can notice, and instead rouses Abby. Abby sits up, blinks, and blearily follows them from the theater. They stand outside on the street, and Erin wraps her coat tighter around her.

“Who wants ice cream?” Holtzmann asks, brightly, and when Erin looks at her in shock, shrugs. “It’s the perfect night for ice cream. It means it won’t melt.”

“While I’ll never say no to ice cream,” Abby says, voice muffled with a yawn, “I’m just going to go home and go to bed.”

“I’m going to have to bow out too,” Patty says, nodding. “Sorry, Holtzy, but I’m beat. I’ll see y’all tomorrow, okay?”

And, just like that, they’re alone. Holtzmann turns to Erin hopefully, all pleading puppy dog eyes and teasing pout. Erin smiles.

“Yeah, ice cream sounds good.”

-

The shop is only a couple of blocks down from Holtzmann’s apartment, so they order ice cream and walk down the block to sit on Holtzmann’s steps.

“I’d invite you inside,” Holtzmann says, digging a pink plastic spoon into the mound of ice cream and toppings in her carboard cup, “But it’s kind of a mess and also I’m pretty sure my roommates would kill me for bringing someone home without telling them.”

“You have roommates?” Erin asks, curiously. She takes a bite of her own ice cream, and the heavy, creamy, strawberry sweetness making her shiver with cold. She somehow pictured Holtzmann as someone who lives alone, although she logically she knows that the city is expensive. She can barely afford to rent her one-bedroom apartment, and Holtzmann works at a tiny school of ill reputation, and probably doesn’t make that much money.

“Yeah,” Holtzmann says. “They’re nice enough, I guess. Don’t really talk with them much, since I’m out of the apartment most days. Met them through a roommate-finding website, and that’s about as far as our relationship goes.”

She scoops a mound of whipped cream into her mouth. She’d ordered something the ice cream shop called a Friday Saturday Sundae, which was whipped cream, three maraschino cherries, both chocolate and rainbow sprinkles, chopped nuts, mini m&ms, chopped Snickers bars, hot fudge, and three scoops of ice cream in flavors of your choice. Holtzmann had chosen rainbow sherbet, coffee almond fudge, and s’mores.

“How are you even eating that?” Erin asks, watching in fascinated horror as Holtzmann scrapes along the side of her cup, making sure she gets a little of each different kind of ice cream on her smooth.

“With great delight,” Holtzmann says seriously, and pokes the spoon at Erin’s mouth. “Try it.”

Erin bats it away, laughing. “No!”

“Come on,” Holtzmann says, the spoon dodging Erin’s hand and heading toward her mouth again. “Trrrryyy ittt. It’s delicious. It’s ice cream. There’s no such thing as a bad combination of ice cream flavors.”

“I could argue that.”

“Okay,” Holtzmann admits, “Once I did try oyster ice cream and it was disgusting. I also had to immediately find my epi-pen because I’m allergic to shellfish, and maybe it wasn’t the smartest move, but it makes for a good story.”

“You’re allergic to shellfish?”

“Yeeeep,” Holtzmann drawls. “Shellfish, bee stings, and latex. A strange combination, sure, but it makes life interesting.” She’s still holding the spoon in front of Erin’s face, waiting.

Erin takes the bite of offered ice cream. It’s as awful as she expected, all clashing flavors and textures, and she must make a face, because Holtzmann laughs. They sit in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of passersby and traffic, the scrape of plastic spoons against the bottom of cardboard cups. At one point Holtzmann leans forward, and her necklace falls forward, out of jacket.

Erin’s noticed it before, of course. It’s kind of hard not to notice. But it hasn’t clicked about what it actually is until she’s looking at it now.

“What does it mean?” She asks, and Holtzmann sits up, confused.

“What does what mean?”

“Screw you,” Erin says, and reaches out to tap the necklace.

“Oh.” Holtzmann’s hand comes up, brushes against the edge of the necklace before it falls away. Her smile is slightly sad. “It’s kind of a long story. I’ll tell you some other time.”

Erin, taking that as Holtzmann doesn’t want to have to explain it to her, nods and looks back down at her nearly empty ice cream cup.

“Hey,” Holtzmann says, softly. “I will tell you, I promise. It’s just…it’s kind of a downer, and I’m enjoying this, right now. So let’s just eat ice cream on the steps, okay?”

“Okay,” Erin says, and they smile at each other. They return to their ice cream. They’re not touching, but they’re sitting so close to each other they might as well be, perhaps a quarter of an inch between their arms.

Erin wants to close that distance. She desperately, desperately does. But she’s not good at stuff like this, not good at dating. But Holtzmann had touched her earlier, throwing an arm around her shoulders. They had brushed elbows throughout the entire movie.

Erin hesitates for a long, long moment, then, slowly, scoots closer. Their arms bump. Holtzmann glances over at her.

“I’m cold,” Erin says by way of explanation, and she is, ice cream and cold steps and chilly wind sapping the heat from her body, her light coat not enough to protect her. But the contact, however slight, sends a flush of heat through her body.

“Oh,” Holtzmann says, and her eyes stray to the corner of Erin’s mouth. “Hey, you have a little…” she raises her hand, hesitates for a moment, then brushes the edge of her thumb against Erin’s mouth.

“You had a bit of ice cream,” Holtzmann explains.

“Oh,” Erin says, and her voice is strange. She clears her throat, and she’s suddenly aware of how close they are, how close their faces are to each other. Holtzmann’s lips part, slightly, the tip of her tongue darting out to lick the drop of pink ice cream off her thumb.

There’s a flowing warmth gathering in Erin’s pelvis. Holtzmann is so, so close.

It’s only their second date, Erin reminds herself. Is it moving too fast to kiss someone on a second date? Will Holtzmann think she’s too eager? Too forward?

“You have a little bit more,” Holtzmann says, voice low.

“Really?” Erin breathes back, and they’ve moved a little closer to each other, noses almost touching. She suddenly feels like a nervous teenager again, about to kiss Ben Hallows behind the lunch room. Her stomach swims with nerves, her palms prick with sweat. Her kiss with Ben hadn’t been that great. It had been too wet, too sloppy, and his lips had tasted like Cheetos. Then, he had immediately run off to his friends to brag, and Erin had earned a new reputation for a couple of months, the rumor growing and growing, until everyone believed that they had done way more than just kiss.

So, yeah, her first kiss? Not fantastic.

But this?

 _This_.

Holtzmann leans forward, and Erin leans forward, and they’re kissing. Holtzmann’s lips are soft and warm and dry, and she tastes of ice cream and the waxy sweetness of lipstick. Erin makes a tiny gasping sound as one of Holtzmann’s hands comes to her hip, and the engineer pulls away, brilliant blue eyes soft and concerned.

“Are you okay?” she asks earnestly. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Erin says, gasps, really, and they’re kissing again. This wasn’t the kiss of two clumsy teenagers. This was gentle and careful and soft, breath-stealing and breath giving at the same time, the world around them stilling, narrowing to _Erin_ and _Holtzmann_ , sitting on these cold concrete steps. It’s a kiss speaking of hesitancies and fears and questions, tentative, searching, as easy as breathing. And when they pull away, seconds or minutes or eons later, Erin can’t tell, they’re both flushed, eyes bright, and they look at each other, breaths heavy.

Erin’s heart beats in her chest. Thud, thud, thuds.

“Erin Gilbert,” Holtzmann says, then stops. She cups Erin’s cheek for a second, fingers cool and soft against Erin’s skin, and pulls it away just as quickly as she placed it there.

Erin understands.

They return to scraping out the bottoms of their ice cream cups in silence. But Erin feels like there’s been something light inside her, warm and flicking in her belly, a tiny flame, waiting to grow larger, waiting for fuel.

She’s barely only just kissed Holtzmann, barely a minute has passed. But she already wants to lean over and kiss her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For someone who's never kissed anyone nor has any desire to kiss anyone, I sure do write a lot of kissy scenes. AND I LOVE WRITING THEM. THEY'RE SO DAMN FUN.


	4. The Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for mentions of possible suicide attempt.

It’s Holtzmann’s turn to call Erin, and it’s barely, barely been twelve hours since they last saw each other when she does.

 _“Hey, Erin,”_ Holtzmann says, voice filling Erin’s phone. _“I know it’s a Sunday and all, but I’m at my lab, and there are cool things cookin’ up over here, and maybe you’d want to come over and take a peek?”_

“That sounds great, Holtz!” Erin says, excided. She’d secretly been wanting to see inside the engineer’s lab, but it felt uncomfortable to her to ask. Kind of like inviting yourself into someone else’s house. “Is there are particular time that works?”

_“Maybe give me like fifteen minutes to turn off all the potentially atom-combusting machines, then we’re good to go.”_

Erin waits fifteen minutes before heading out, like she was asked. But she decides to ignore the reason she was asked to wait.

Holtzmann is waiting outside the front doors, leaning against the railing at the top. When she sees Erin get out of the taxi she hops up on the railing and slides the few feet down, landing with a bounce just as Erin reaches the steps. Her green denim lab coat flaps as she lands. She’s wearing her goggles again, and there are a pair of bright yellow gloves shoved in her pocket.

“Ready?” she asks, and Erin looks in apprehension at the building. Holtzmann laughs. “Yeah, I know, it’s awful.” She hooks her elbow through Erin’s, leading her up the stairs and through the doors.

The building used to be a high school, and it shows. Erin’s never felt comfortable in high schools after all her awful experiences at her own, and she can feel the uncomfortable, nervous cramping low in her stomach. She knows it’s irrational, but her anxiety doesn’t, and she finds herself picking at the skin around her fingernails, a nervous tick she can’t quite break.

But, then, Holtzmann throws open the door to her lab, and the nerves are instantly squashed under pure glee. Because Holtzmann’s entire lab is a mess of machines and parts and pieces, and it makes her itch, but it’s a glorious mess. Erin spins, attempting to take it all in, and laughs. She casts her gaze around, and it settles on a hunk of machinery on a rolling metal table.

“Is that…?”

“It is,” Holtzmann says. She’s leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, a smirk on her face.

“It’s beautiful,” Erin gushes, tracing the edge of it with her fingertip. “And is that a faraday cage? Brilliant!” She laughs again, and Holtzmann wanders over, hands shoved deep in her pockets. She grabs Erin’s hips, pulling her closer.

“What?” Erin asks, looking down to see the engineer smiling up at her.

“You’re so cute,” Holtzmann says. “You’re so happy here.” She reaches up, presses a finger gently to the tip of Erin’s nose before taking it away.

“It’s amazing, Holtz,” Erin says, truthfully. “Truly. I can’t believe you’ve been holding this out on me.”

Holtzmann smiles, letting go of Erin’s hips to grab her hands. “You haven’t even seen the best part, yet.”

-

As it turns out, Holtzmann has spent quite a lot of time creating little hidey holes for snacks, has booby trapped anything remotely booby trappable, and has at least three separate sets of tools, all by the same brand, but insists that there’s a set that works better than the rest. It’s nearly suffocatingly adorable, and Erin spends the entire tour laughing and smiling, because this brilliant, wonderfully weird woman is so excited about everything, and it’s infectious. Yes, there are a couple of things accidently set on fire, mostly thanks to Holtz lip-syncing and dancing to Rhythm of the Night while holding a lit blow torch, and that adds a small dose of panic to Erin’s day, but, really, she’s having fun. She’s having a lot of fun.

Time passes quickly, and they eventually find themselves sitting against the back wall. They’d ordered sandwiches, and they eat while Erin tells Holtzmann about Abby’s favorite-slash-least favorite delivery boy.

“I can never tell if it’s just because Bennie takes forever, or if it’s because Zhu’s takes forever, but either way, it can be a good two hours before we get our food. So Abby has started ordering lunch at ten in the morning, and most of the time she has to send stuff back.”

“Why does she keep ordering there?” Holtzmann asks, paper wrapped around her sandwich crinkling.

Erin shrugs. “Because she insists that when they get it right, and when they’re on time, they make the best wonton soup in the city.”

“I can understand that.”

Erin looks around the lab again. Yes, the clutter makes her anxious, but it’s such interesting clutter that she can (almost) ignore it. This time, though, looking it over she’s more careful, and she settles on a framed photograph she hadn’t noticed before. It’s a stern looking woman with large glasses and wild curly hair, glaring into the camera.

“Who’s that?” Erin asks, gesturing at the photo. She doesn’t look similar enough to Holtzmann to be her mom, and too old to be her sister. An aunt, maybe?

“That’s Rebecca,” Holtzmann says, pulling a piece of tomato out of her sandwich. “Dr. Gorin, I guess. My mentor.” She’s quiet for a second, and Erin senses there’s a lot of backstory, there.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me,” she says, but Holtzmann shakes her head.

“No, it’s fine.” She sets down her sandwich and stretches out her legs. “It’s just…well, it’s kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got a while,” Erin says, and Holtzmann’s tiny, tiny smile lights up the room.

-

It’s hard to listen to. Erin wasn’t sure what she was expecting when Holtzmann first started talking, but it wasn’t _this_.

A mother, sweet and kind and gentle, dying of breast cancer when Holtzmann was twelve years old.

A homophobic father with an emotionally abusive new wife.

A sixteen-year-old out on the streets, three months until she starts college at the school of her dreams, homeless and alone.

“What did you do?” Erin asks, and Holtz shrugs, one shoulder going up, down.

“I couch surfed,” she says, picking at a loose thread on her lab coat. “Went to my girlfriend’s, first, and managed to hide that I was staying there for a few weeks because her parents were never really home. But when they discovered a strange girl was staying in their basement, they flipped out, and got out of there before they could call social services. Then I spent a couple of weeks with one of my mom’s old friends, a few with a distant cousin, a week and a half with a girl from work.”

“That’s awful, Holtz,” Erin says, softly, because it is. Holtzmann shrugs again, and they’re sitting close enough together than Erin can feel the movement against her arm.

“Then I was at college, and not only was I the youngest, but I was the only girl, and I think Rebecca saw herself in me. We can from similar backgrounds, and we both knew- and know, honestly -what it’s like to be the only woman in a room, and to have to be even more brilliant because of that.”

Erin nods, because she also understands, and the corner of Holtzmann’s mouth quirks up. Not a smile, exactly, just a hinting of one.

“I also kind of forced her into it. I mean, you’ve met me. You can’t meet me and not love me instantly,” Holtzmann says, humor alight in her voice.

“You’re right,” Erin says, and her voice holds a seriousness neither of them was expecting. They stare at each other for a second. There’s a _tug_ and a _catch_ between them, and there’s a molten heat in Erin’s chest, and she’s stuck, caught in the beating of her hummingbird heart.

She’s not sure who leans forward first. Only that they’re kissing.

One of Holtzmann’s hands has come up, is cradling the base of Erin’s neck, a thumb moving gently against her spine and one of Erin’s hands has crept along, under Holtz’s lab coat, around her waist to pull her closer. Holtzmann shifts so she’s kneeling, and Erin twists, free hand bracing herself against the floor.

She thinks she could get lost in the feeling of Holtzmann’s lips against hers. So she does.

At least for a little while.

-

“What about you?”

Erin pauses at the question. She leans her head back against the wall, and Holtzmann curls up next to her, tucking her head against Erin’s shoulder so she can look up at her with a smile.

“It’s not super interesting,” she says, finally.

“I don’t care.”

Erin laughs, once, and leans her head against the top of Holtz’s.

“It’s not super unusual. I was a really anxious kid, and you know about the night terrors, right?” At Holtzmann’s nod, she continues. “Well, eventually I grew out of them, but I still had to live with the teasing at school. And my parents were going through a really nasty divorce, and I was trying to make everyone happy all at once, even when it wasn’t possible, and that combined with two types of anxiety and depression can kind of throw you for a loop.”

“What did you do?”

“I broke,” Erin admits. “I spent a week in the psych unit of the children’s hospital because my mom thought I was going to try and commit suicide.” She laughs, again, but it’s a humorless sound. “I’m still not sure if I would have, I just know it’s good it happened with it did. I started going to therapy again, and got medication to help keep everything even, and I’m still on it. I don’t think I’ll ever go off it.”

They’re quiet for a while. Holtzmann breaks the silence.

“There’s nothing wrong with that, you know that, right?” she says, “I mean, I’ve been on anti-anxiety medication since I was in my mid-twenties. A lot of people deal with mental illness. You’re not the only one.”

“I know,” Erin says, “I just…there were enough people growing up to make me feel absolutely awful about it…that, well…it sticks with you, y’know?”

“Of course I do,” Holtzmann says, and she tucks her head between Erin’s shoulder and her neck. “People can be awful.”

“The human race is awful,” Erin says, bleakly, but Holtzmann shakes her head.

“You’re not awful.”

“You aren’t awful, either,” Erin whispers.

“Abby isn’t awful, Patty isn’t awful…”

“People who let you pet their dogs aren’t awful…”

Holtzmann laughs. She stretches up, places a gentle kiss on Erin’s jawline. “People aren’t inherently awful. There are some awful people, but not everyone’s awful.”

They’re quiet again. The sounds of the lab blur into a background noise, and Erin is focused on the tiny movements of Holtzmann’s fingers against the inside of her wrist.

“You were asking about my necklace,” Holtzmann says, breaking the silence.

“Hmm?”

“My necklace,” Holtzmann says again, her hand reaching up, fingers tracing the edges. “Rebecca wears a matching one as a pin. We made them after I blew my shot at CERN. A massive middle finger to anyone who dares to tell us no. That we’re not good enough. Who we can and can’t love.”

 

-

They stand outside the institute, hand in hand. The wind is coaxing Holtzmann’s hair into interesting, fluffy blonde shapes, and Erin has an odd, almost childish urge to pet it down. She tilts her head to look at Erin.

“See you soon?”

“See you soon,” Erin confirms, and Holtzmann stretches on her toes to give Erin a gentle, brief kiss. Then she’s off, heading down the sidewalk, giant silver duffle bag bumping against her with every step, and Erin wonders how it’s possible for you to be so enamored with another person.

She isn’t sure. She only knows that she is, and she doesn’t want it to go away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little baby chapter. Was originally supposed to be apart of the last one, but I felt like they worked better separate, even if this one is shorter. Also, BACKSTORY.
> 
> I mean, meanwhile, done with finals and ONE DAY AWAY FROM SUMMER BREAK. My brain is mush, but I get the most writing done on mush-brain, apparently, and this next chapter is turning out to be a BEAST (but a very fun beast ;) ) that I may have to split in half. 
> 
> This 'fic was only supposed to be four chapters, guys. I'm at four and maybe halfway done. Maybe.


	5. The First

It’s their eighth date.

Ninth, if you count the time that Erin had gotten a migraine and Holtzmann had still come to her apartment, and they had sat in the dark and drank ginger ale. They hadn’t really done much, just sat in a comfortable silence. Erin says it wasn’t a date. Holtzmann says it was.

But this? This is a date.

At first, Erin balks at the idea of going to a bar. She hasn’t been in years, and the times she has gone, it tends not to end up well. Abby isn’t the biggest fan, either, and Erin’s last significant others have all been stuffy, overly-professional professors who’s idea of a “bar” is more along the lines of a leather and velvet corner of a formal restaurant, so she doesn’t think she’s been since she was in her early thirties. But Holtzmann seems excited, and Erin does admit that it’s nice to get dressed up in a way that’s not supposed to give her an air of polite intelligence, like her tweed skirts and nude heels attempt to do.

This…this outfit is not something she’d ever wear anywhere near Colombia or any of Colombia’s fundraisers and parties. The floaty, black pants, the red blouse that what a neckline that dips _low_ between her breasts, and when combined with red lipstick and hair pulled up, artfully messy in a look that look almost an hour and about a hundred pins to achieve, is clearly a look that’s meant to be seductive.

It’s unfamiliar territory, seductive. Erin isn’t quite sure if she’s doing it right, but she hopes she is. She wants Holtzmann to _look_ , and it sends a strange, giddy energy through her veins. She waits, down just inside the door of her apartment building, and she’s equal parts anxious and excited, a cocktail that ends a nervous energy down her spine. Her fingers tap, fingertip to fingertip, scratching the tip of her fingernail against the skin of her thumb.

When Holtzmann appears Erin shoots from the doorway, sliding in next to Holtzmann in the car before Holtzmann barely has time to register she’s there.

“You look nice,” she says, giving Erin an appreciative once-over. Erin smiles, leaning over to peck her on the cheek.

“You do, too.”

And she does; she’s wearing tightly-fitting slacks and a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, a waistcoat over that. She looks good. She looks really, really good, and Erin can feel her brain stutter. She clears her throat, Holtzmann looking on in amusement, sunglasses low on her nose.

“Where are we going?” She asks, finally, because she told Holtzmann that she could choose the bar.

“It’s called Dorothy’s,” Holtzmann says, leaning back against the seat of the taxi. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

“I’m sure I will,” Erin says. She’s kind of lying.

She doesn’t really like bars.

-

It’s a queer bar. Of course it is. Erin doesn’t know why she expected anything different. And Holtzmann clearly is a regular patron of it, because she knows everyone working the bars, and they call her by name. At first, Erin perches awkwardly on a bar stool, fiddling with the little red straws in her drink, uncomfortable with the new environment. But, she does have to say, this is the first bar she’s been at in a long while where she’s not being hit on by creepy men who won’t take no for an answer.

It could have something to do with how close Holtzmann is. About fifteen minutes after getting there, Holtzmann had snaked an arm around Erin’s waist. And it stays there, a comforting weight just above her hipbones. It’s familiar, normal, and, yes, slightly distracting, because Holtzmann’s fingers haven’t stopped moving, and they tap and trace against Erin’s stomach in absentminded movements that are slowly driving Erin insane.

But she can stay level-headed, at least until a song comes over the speakers in the corners, and Holtzmann’s eyes light up. It takes Erin a moment to recognize it, and it seems slightly out of place, but Holtzmann is already singing along, and she has both of Erin’s hands in hers, half walking, half dancing backwards towards the dance floor that takes up the middle of the room.

“Rhythm of the Night?” Erin asks, laughing as Holtzmann does an odd strutting hip thrust, biting her bottom lip.

“Riley knows I like it, so they always play it when I’m here,” Holtzmann explains, raising her arm in an attempt to spin Erin. It doesn’t work that well, both because Erin isn’t expecting it and so she fights it, and because Erin is taller than Holtz, so it mostly just ends with Holtzmann accidently elbowing Erin in the nose. But Erin’s had just enough alcohol at this point that the room is starting to get a bit warmer, she’s starting to get a bit more comfortable, so her nose only aches for a second.

Holtzmann is still holding both of Erin’s hands, and she’s dancing. Erin loves how she dances, all hips and shoulders, shimmying and twisting. She pulls a more than slightly hesitant Erin along with her, humming along to the song.

“Relax, Er,” she says, smiling as Erin stiffly moves, casting glances out of the corners of her eyes to see if anyone’s watching her. “You’re a good dancer. I’ve seen you dance. So _dance_.”

Erin exhales. The song’s beat is settling in bones, thudding along behind her ribcage, and she itches to move, but she’s also so aware of everyone else here. She dances, yes, and she loves it, yes, but she doesn’t dance in public, in front of others.

And yet.

Holtz looks so happy. She’s dancing with her arms above her head, and Erin can’t help but watch the slow twists of her pelvis. She dances like she’s made to move like this, every inch of her body fluid and moving, and there’s a slow, liquid heat low in Erin’s stomach. Holtzmann is dancing in front of her, and Erin bounces on the balls of her feet, takes a deep breath, and dances.

She lets the music take her, lets the warmth of alcohol in her veins guide her steps, and she joins Holtzmann in the middle of the floor.

Erin doesn’t know how it happens. It just happens so fast. One minute, they’re a couple of a feet apart, and the next, they’re together. Holtzmann has her hands on Erin’s hips and Erin is gripping one of Holtzmann’s, her other hand on her lower back, feeling the roll and bend of Holtzmann’s spine. Every moment causes a catch in her breath, and then Holtzmann looks up at her, all seductive smile and tongue between her teeth. She rolls her hips, purposely and slowly, and Erin gasps.

Then, after a moment of deliberating, she makes the same movement, her hand tightening on Holtzmann’s hip, fingers curling into the fabric.

Holtzmann’s small hand is around Erin’s wrist and she’s pulling her off the dance floor, into one of the darker corners of the bar, and they’re kissing.

Before this, their kisses had been gentle, neither wanting to scare the other off with the intensity. This, this isn’t gentle. This is lips and tongue and _teeth_ , hands digging into hips and arms and shoulders, and Erin pulls away. It feels like the hardest thing she’s ever done, gravity dragging her forward, back toward Holtzmann.

“Do you…” she says, and swallows hard. “Do you…do you want to come back to my apartment?”

“Oh, thank god,” Holtzmann says, stretching on her toes to kiss Erin again. “I’ve been dying to invite you back to mine since I saw you in this shirt.” A finger traces the curve of the neckline, and Erin shivers. “But I have roommates who would kill me.”

“Is that a yes?”

“God, yes.”

-

They sit side by side in the taxi, and they’re careful not to touch. It’s almost painful, because the tips of Erin’s fingers itch to _touch_ , but she’s burning embers waiting to burst into flame, and Holtzmann is the match, hovering inches away.

Erin already has her keys in her hand when the taxi pulls up to her building, and she and Holtzmann pile from the taxi, clamber up the stairs. Erin barely has her door open because Holtzmann pounces.

Erin makes a surprised sound against Holtzmann’s lips, stumbling a little against the force. She drops her purse on the table beside the door and threads her hands up into Holtzmann’s hair. It’s stiff with hairspray and spiky with bobby pins, and Holtzmann winces, pulling away from Erin.

“That hurts, but not in the good, fun way,” she says, gently lowering Erin’s arms. She takes the free moment to shrug out of her jacket and toss it in the direction of Erin’s couch, stepping out of her boots as she goes. Erin follows her example, kicking off her shoes and pulling bobby pins from her hair. Her scalp aches as her hair falls, and she runs her fingers through to comb out any tangles.

Then, they’re kissing again. It’s an awkward shuffle from the living room back into Erin’s bedroom. Holtzmann keeps stepping on Erin’s toes and Erin keeps banging her calves and hips into furniture, but somehow, they end up in Erin’s bedroom without any bruises. They back up until the backs of Erin’s legs hit her bed, but Erin stops Holtzmann, placing her hands on her chest.

“Is this okay?” she asks, and Holtzmann laughs, leaning forward and pecking the tip of Erin’s nose.

“One hundred and ten percent okay,” she says, and there’s a little push and a little pull, and Erin back hits the bed with a bounce, and Holtzmann is on top of her, a feral grin on her face.

“Now,” Holtzmann says, hands skimming down Erin’s arm. “Let’s see what it takes to take you to pieces.”

-

They move together like they were made for each other. Erin’s shirt is discarded and Holtzmann is sitting on her hips, kissing across her jawline, down her neck, finger tips just barely brushing against the skin right below Erin’s breasts. Erin slides her own hands up, under Holtzmann’s own shirt and Holtzmann pulls back. For a second, Erin worries she did something wrong, but instead Holtzmann pulls her shirt over her head, and Erin’s mouth goes dry.

She runs her hands against the plain of Holtzmann’s stomach, fingernails dragging gently, and Holtzmann shudders, her soft exhale a bit ragged, holding a bit of a catch, and Erin smiles.

She does it so quickly that Holtzmann barely realizes what’s happening. A twist of her hips and a heave, and Holtzmann is on her back on Erin’s bed, and Erin’s straddling her thighs. Holtzmann raises an eyebrow, waiting and teasing, and Erin hand slides towards Holtz’s belt buckle.

“Eager, are we?” Holtzmann asks, propping herself up on an elbow, lifting her hips to help Erin pull her pants off her legs.

“Shut up,” Erin says, a smile on her face to show she’s not serious, and Holtzmann smirks.

And then her smirk disappears, because Erin has unclasped her bra, and Erin thinks she’ll remember the look on Holtzmann’s face for the rest of her life.

-

Erin will remember this next part for the rest of her life, too.

Because Holtzmann gasps Erin’s name like a prayer, and her fingernails dig into Erin’s arms, and Erin can’t ever remember feeling like this. Feeling like she’s wanted, and it gives her a rush of power.

Because she caused this. She caused this _heat_ , and Holtzmann is writhing under her, hips moving in time with Erin’s hand. Erin revels in the tiny, breathy gasps, soft moans, and she knows that Holtzmann is so, so close. Holtzmann is beautiful and perfect beneath her, and Erin pushes her closer, closer, closer.

-

Holtzmann moves like an artist, painting a canvas of _heat_ and _longing_ across Erin’s body. Everywhere her lips touch, the burning beneath Erin’s skin flares to life, a starburst of wanting and needing. Holtzmann kisses down her neck, across her collarbones, between her breasts. She kisses down Erin’s ribs and across the soft, tender skin of her stomach. She kisses lower, lower, seeking out the heat that’s been burning between Erin’s legs all night.

-

They treat each other like they are breakable. They’re not, not really, but they don’t want to ruin this thing, clutched in the spaces between their chests like a new star, bright and shining and growing.

-

They chase each other’s pleasure across their bodies, and they are fire and flames and white-hot heat, and even when Erin thinks they may be close to stopping, that they may be done, one of them moves just right, and they keep going.

Erin wonders if it’s ever going to stop, this insatiable desire. She doesn’t think it will.

-

She lets Holtzmann use the bathroom first, and when she’s done, Erin takes it over. She splashes cool water on her face and runs a wet washcloth between her legs, then takes a deep breath to steady her still-pounding heart. She looks at herself in the mirror. Her hair is a mess of tangles, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are bright. The thought of Holtzmann in the other room causes a little hitch in her lungs, and she smiles into the mirror.

She opens the bathroom door, and looks for Holtzmann. She’s lying flat on her back on Erin’s bed, hands resting on her stomach. She’s taken the pins from her hair, and it’s a long, wavy blonde curtain across her shoulders.

“Hey,” she says, smiling as Erin pads into the room.

“Hey,” Erin says back, climbing onto her bed and sliding beneath the covers. She pats the bed beside her and Holtzmann takes the hint. She wiggles under the covers until Erin can only see her eyes.

“Your bedsheets are soft,” she says, so causally, as if something momentous hadn’t just happened. Erin slides further under the covers, propping her head up on her folded arm.

“So,” Erin says, and stops, because she’s not quite sure what’s she supposed to say, now. It feels like she should say something huge and life changing, like in the movies, but her mind is blank.

“So,” Holtzmann echoes, and somehow there’s a whole world’s worth of words in that single one, and Erin feels sleep dragging on her eyelids, and so she just reaches for Holtzmann’s hand, fingers curling together under the covers.

-

She doesn’t remember falling asleep, but she remembers waking up, in the latest hours of the night. They’re not holding hands anymore, but Holtzmann is curled on her side. She looks young in sleep, young and still and peaceful in a way that an awake Holtzmann would never be able to achieve, and it makes Erin’s heart give a little flutter.

She traces her fingertips across the bare skin of Holtzmann’s shoulder, down her arm, memorizing the way smooth skin covers hard muscle, the soft blonde hair, the pale burn scars built up after a lifetime of poofs and other accidents.

When Erin looks up at Holtzmann’s face, she’s greeted by blue eyes and a curved smile. They don’t say anything. Holtzmann just captures Erin’s hand again, presses her lips against Erin’s knuckles in a soft kiss, and then they’re asleep once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up having to cut this chapter in half because it was getting too long. I'll try to post part two tomorrow, but I'm not sure if I'll end up having any free time.


	6. The After

 

Erin isn’t used to waking up with someone else in her bed. Phil was her most recent long-term relationship, and he never came over to her apartment; she always went to his. She hasn’t shared her own bed since her girlfriend in grad school, so this is unfamiliar.

But she likes it. She really likes it.

Holtzmann is still asleep, splayed on her stomach. One of her feet is looped over Erin’s calve and an arm is flung over Erin’s chest and she’s making tiny sounds, not-quite snores and Erin finds them irresistibly adorable. She’s warm and cozy under the blankets, and she considers trying to fall back asleep, but her clock blinks 8:52 and she really, really has to pee.

Slowly, Erin tries to wiggle away from Holtzmann’s arm without disturbing her, but she hears Holtzmann yawn. Erin looks over and she’s blinking, bright blue eyes bleary with sleep.

“Sorry,” Erin whispers, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“’is alright,” Holtzmann mumbles, reaching out to drag Erin back, closer to her, closing her eyes again. She places a sleepy kiss to the corner of Erin’s mouth, who gently pushes her away.

“No, morning breath.”

“I don’t care,” Holtzmann says, and tucks her head into Erin’s neck. Her soft exhales are warm against Erin’s skin.

“Holtz…”

“Noooo,” she moans, and holds on to Erin tighter. “Stay. Spend all day in bed.”

Erin actually lies there for a moment, considering it. It sounds nice. It sounds very, very nice to spend all day in bed, curled up with Holtzmann, warm and comfortable. She doesn’t have to go to work today, it’s a Sunday after all, and she does have plans with Abby at four but that’s still many hours away.

But her stomach rumbles, and it feels like her bladder’s about to burst, so she regretfully extracts herself from Holtzmann’s embrace. Holtzmann moans again, and flops down face first into Erin’s pillows. She’s in the exact same position when Erin comes back a few minutes later, having both peed and brushed her teeth. Erin perches on the end of the bed, pulling on a shirt.

“I started coffee if you want any,” she offers, and Holtzmann rolls over.

“Do you have whipped cream?” She asks, and Erin pauses.

“I think so?”

“Great.”

-

It takes a couple of minutes before they leave the room. The bedroom is freezing after the warmth of her bed, and it takes some time to dig up clean clothes for Holtzmann. Erin is on the smaller side, yes, but she’s not _Holtzmann_ small, and even the old, ratty gray sweats she’s probably had since college hang off Holtzmann’s hips. Not that Erin’s complaining, because, really, Holtzmann has _really nice_ hips, and her eyes keep straying to the small slice of skin visible between the waistband of the sweats and the hem of Erin’s almost as old _the truth is out there_ shirt (which had pleased Holtzmann to no end).

And now that they’re in the kitchen, Erin can’t stop herself from looking. Because Holtzmann is sitting at her table, feet tucked under her, hair in a loose bun at the nap of her neck. She smiles at Erin when Erin hands her a mug full of coffee, and proceeds to make something she calls a Leslie Knope (maple syrup instead of sugar and enough whipped cream to smother an average human being). It makes Erin cringe every time Holtzmann takes a sip, but she’s gotten used to Holtzmann’s somewhat odd eating habits, so it doesn’t make her blink as it once might’ve.

Erin’s fridge is mostly empty, because she always grocery shops on Sundays, but she has eggs and bread and a little bit of cheese, and that’s enough for breakfast.

Holtzmann leans back in her chair, propping her feet on Erin’s table, resting her coffee mug on her stomach.

“So, Gilbert,” she says, watching as Erin drops a pat of butter into a pan on the stove. “Last night…let me just say A+. Ten out of ten. One hundred percent.”

Erin’s cheeks turn a little pink, and she puts more energy into whisking the eggs together than she probably has to. “You weren’t so bad yourself,” she says quietly, and she can feel Holtzmann smirking at the back of her head. The eggs sizzle and pop when they hit the skillet, and when she turns to reach for a spatula, she catches a glimpse of Holtzmann out of the corner of her eye.

It’s unfair for her to look this good having just rolled out of bed. She catches Erin’s eye and winks, sipping from her mug, fluttering the fingers of her free hand in a tiny wave. Erin bites her lip, trying really, really hard not to remember what Holtzmann looked like last night, flushed and tangled in Erin’s sheets. She tries not to remember the little, gasping moans, the way her fingers dug into Erin’s shoulders, the feeling of skin against skin…

There’s a low, pooling heat, and Erin whips in the other direction, mouth suddenly dry. She hears Holtzmann laugh into her coffee, and heat gathers in her cheeks.

They eat in a comfortable silence, and Holtzmann continues to display that she always eats like she hasn’t touched food in weeks. When she’s done, she leans back in her chair and watches Erin. It should make Erin uncomfortable, but it doesn’t; it’s like Holtzmann is trying to commit how Erin looks right at this moment to memory, and Erin doesn’t blame her; after all, she’s doing the same to her.

“Do you have any fantastically exciting plans for today?” She asks, and Erin shrugs.

“Abby and I have a weekly coffee date, and that’s at four, but other than that, I was going to do my normal Sunday things.”

“Oh?” Holtzmann says, leaning forward and propping her elbow on the table. “What are your usual Sunday things?”

“Laundry,” Erin admits. “Grocery shopping. Grading if I have anything to do.”

“That sounds spectacularly boring.”

“Maybe,” Erin says, shrugging. “But I- oop!”

She gives a sound of surprise, because Holtzmann has suddenly slide up and over the table and is now straddling Erin’s thighs. Holtzmann grins, wrapping her arms loosely around Erin’s shoulders.

“You meet Abby at four, you say?” She says conversationally, as if she’s not sitting on Erin’s lap, close enough to make Erin’s heart stutter. “That gives us…oh, six hours?”

“To do what?” Erin asks, even though she knows the answer. Holtzmann smiles, reaching up and bopping Erin’s noise.

“This,” she says in reply, and pulls Erin forward into a searing kiss.

“Oh,” Erin says, a bit breathlessly, when Holtzmann pulls back, seconds or hours later. Holtzmann licks her lips, a dare in her eyes. So Erin does what anyone would do.

She grabs Holtzmann and kisses her again.

-

Honestly, it’s a miracle that she even managed to leave the house, because Holtzmann is insatiable, and she finds that she is a little bit insatiable, too. It’s a new feeling, this, because her past sexual experiences have been sub-par at best, and she thought they were good because she had nothing else to compare them too. But this…if those past experiences where good, this was out-of-the-world amazing. Holtzmann didn’t seem to want to stop until Erin’s entire body was mush, and Erin was much the same. They had to practically force themselves to stop, because Erin had to get ready.

And still, the memory of Holtzmann lingers in her mind, even as she waits in a crowded café for Abby to show up. When Abby does show up, she flings her bag at the chair and looks at Erin suspiciously.

“You’re all smiley,” she says, frowning at Erin. “Why are you all smiley?”

“I’m not all smiley,” Erin says into her coffee cup, because she’s was thinking about Holtzmann and she’s pretty sure she’s still smiling. Abby raises an eyebrow, and Erin sighs.

“Okay, fine, maybe I’m a _little_ smiley,” she says begrudgingly, and plops down in the chair across from Erin.

“Spill,” she says, reaching across the table to steal Erin’s scone. Erin protests, but not very much.

“So,” Abby says, breaking the scone apart and popping a bite sized piece into her mouth, “I’m assuming that this has something to do with Holtzmann.”

“What? Why would you assume that?” Erin blurts, and Abby smirks.

“Because of that,” she says, “And also because Patty texted me this morning saying that Holtzmann showed up at her apartment wearing clothes that weren’t hers and demanding snack food.” Abby leans forward. “You don’t keep junk food at your apartment.”

“So?”

“So…” Abby draws out the word, and Erin is unsure how she’s supposed to be feeling at this point. Nervous, or embarrassed, maybe.

“Did you sleep with Holtzmann?”

Erin hums.

Abby laughs. “You did, didn’t you? Erin!”

“What?” Erin asks, reaching up to adjust her shirt collar. “What if we did?”

“It’s a big deal!” Abby says, then frowns. “Isn’t it?”

“Sometimes,” Erin says, running a finger around the lip of her cup. “I mean, sometimes it’s not, for some people.”

Abby studies Erin in that intense way she has, making eye contact long enough that Erin has to look away.

“Is it for you?”

Erin hesitates. “I think so? Maybe? I’m not sure.” She’s thought about it, of course she has, because she’s the champion overthinker and it feels like a big deal to her. But what if it doesn’t to Holtzmann? Sex for Erin has always been more about the emotional intimacy (that is, admittedly, often somewhat lacking in her chosen partners) than the physical act itself, but what if Holtzmann just really likes sex? Not that that’s wrong, but it’s a different view on it and what if Erin’s thinking of it as a big deal but to Holtzmann it’s just another night with her girlfriend? And what if-

“Erin, I can practically see you working yourself up.” Abby- thankfully -interrupts her train of thought and therefor the rising anxiety. Erin takes a deep breath to try and fend off the pit developing in her stomach, taking a sip of coffee. She focuses on the feeling of warmth, and slowly, relaxes.

“Does it feel like a big deal to you?” Abby asks, and Erin nods, once. Abby makes a _there you go_ gesture before plopping back in her chair, crossing her arms.

“This entire relationship feels like a big deal to me,” Erin says, and it’s a surprise for even her, but as soon as she says it she knows, deep in her bones, it’s true. Because she’s barely known this woman two months, and she already can’t imagine what her life would be like without her, once Erin knows what it’s like with her in it.

“Oh, thank god,” Abby says, and Erin looks at her in shock. That was not the response she was expecting.

“Well, what did you expect me to say?” Abby defends herself, gesturing widely. “Your last partners have all been absolute assholes!”

“That’s not really true,” Erin says, weakly, but Abby raises an eyebrow.

“Two words. Phil. Hudson.”

“Okay, I know you don’t like him, but he’s not _that_ awful.”

Abby laughs. “Oh, really? What about the time he left you at the fundraiser because you tripped on your heels- that he told you to wear, by the way -and you twisted your ankle, which embarrassed _him_ , apparently, and you had to call me to take you home? Or the time you got horrible food poisoning and you didn’t have anyone to take care of you because he refused on the tiny off chance you were contagious and it wasn’t just because of those super sketchy oysters you insisted on ordering?”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Erin says weakly, but, really, it was.

Abby laughs again, scorn lacing her voice. “How about the time that it was super icy and freezing cold and you guys left campus late at night and he refused to drive you home because it was out of his way and he wanted to “save gas”? Or the time he insisted you guys still go on a date even though you had that horrible migraine, you ended up having to go throw up because he ordered fish and the smell was too strong? Or-“

“I get it, Abby!” Erin reaches out to stop her friend. “Phil was horrible.”

 “Anyways,” Abby says, clearly having gotten kind of sidetracked. “I really like Holtzmann, Erin. I think she’s sweet and funny and smart, and she clearly adores you, and you equally as clearly adore her.” Abby shrugs. “I think you should go for it. I’ve thought that since you guys first started dating. And, clearly, you think so too.”

“But what if she doesn’t?”

Abby snorts. “Erin, every time I’m around her she can’t keep her eyes off you.”

The thought sends a warm, cozy feeling through Erin’s stomach. Abby pushes back from the table. “Now, I’m going to go get a coffee. And when I get back, don’t mistake my supporting your relationship as an invitation to hear all the gross details of last night.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Erin protests, cheeks going pink even at the thought. And, just before Abby walks away another thought occurs to her.

“Hey, Abby, how’d you get Patty’s phone number.”

“We exchanged them after that movie. Come on, Erin. You two are disgustingly adorable. Of course your best friends want to talk about it.”

-

Erin’s heart is in her throat. The phone is ringing in her ears, and she closes her eyes, twisting her fingers into her shirt. There’s the soft click of the phone being picked up, and

“I TOLD YOU TO STOP CALLING,” A familiar voice roars at top volume in a much deeper voice than normally used. Erin, having gotten used to Holtzmann’s more eccentric phone greetings, isn’t fazed.

“Holtzmann?”

“Erin!” Holtzmann’s voice instantly returns to her normal, cheerful tones. “What can I do for you?”

Erin takes a deep breath. “I’m just calling to say…well…” she shakes her free arm in an attempt to sooth her jittery nerves. Doesn’t work. “Ireallylikeyoualotandthisrelationshipfeelslikeabigdealtome.”

She instantly sucks in a breath and holds it in a sort of hopeful terror. Holtzmann’s side of the phone is silent for a long, long time. Long enough that Erin starts to panic, sure she said the wrong thing.

But, when Holtzmann finally speaks, her voice is small and quiet and as hesitant as Erin feels.

“I like you a lot, too,” she all but whispers, and Erin has to strain to hear her. “I feel like I connect with you.”

“In a way that I haven’t really connected with anyone before,” Erin finishes. She opens her eyes. “I just…I wanted you to know.”

“Thank you,” Holtzmann says. There’s another silence, this one shorter. “I just…I feel the same way.”

And Erin knows she means it, knows it from somewhere deep inside her, feels the weight behind the words of absolute sureness. She smiles, then laughs in a giddy sort of happiness, hand over her mouth. Holtzmann is laughing, too, then, and they’re both laughing, and Erin feels a weight she wasn’t even aware was there rise off her chest, lift from her shoulders.

Later, after they say their goodnights, right before Erin is about to hang up, Holtzmann stops her.

“Hey, Er?”

“Yeah?”

“Really…thank you. For telling me.”

“Of course,” Erin says softly, and then the Holtzmann hangs up.

Erin stays there, on her couch, staring at the ceiling for a while. She smiles, biting her lip. She feels like a teenager again, young and falling in love. But this…this Erin feeling this way is different than fifteen-year-old Erin feeling this way for one, huge reason.

This…this relationship she can see lasting a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! One more chapter after this one, then a slightly shorter epilogue. And I've said this before, but I'll say it again: THIS WAS ONLY SUPPOSED TO BE FOUR CHAPTERS. FOUR. This is twice the size it was originally supposed to be. Oops?


	7. Four Letter Word

 

It’s an inevitable, this happening. They run in the same professional circles, after all, and they work on the same campus and while it’s big, it’s not that big. And Holtzmann loves to come visit Erin on campus, loves visiting her “badass professor girlfriend” and teasing her about her tweed skirt suits and tiny bowties.

So, yeah, Phil is bound to run into her and Holtzmann together at some point.

But why did it have to be today?

Abby and Patty had come to campus along with Holtzmann, and they’re sitting in the sun and Patty’s telling a story about a student and Holtzmann’s arm is curled around Erin’s waist and she’s warm and content.

And he ruins it.

“Erin? Erin!”

At first, Erin tries to pretend it’s not him. But then she sees the way Abby’s face freezes and sets in an expression of pure hatred thinly disguised under a layer of contempt, and she knows.

She turns on the bench, and Holtzmann twists around with her.

“Hello, Phil,” she says, resigned to what she hopes is a very short conversation. Now Patty whips around, and out of the corner of her eye, Erin can see her mouthing _is that…?_ To Abby.

Phil stands over her, frowning. Not that that’s unusual, because he’s always frowning, to the point where Erin didn’t really notice it anymore, but now, it stands out, and she can’t really put her finger on _why_.

“Yeah, hello _, Phil_ ,” Abby says, and her voice drips with distain, and she says his name the same way someone else might say _fuckwad_. Phil’s lip curls.

“Abigail,” he says back, and returns his attention to Erin. “Why haven’t you been returning my calls?”

“Because she doesn’t need to, asshat,” Abby says before Erin has a chance to answer, and while she appreciates Abby’s attempt to stand up for her, Erin shoots her a warning glare. She tugs at her jacket as she turns back to Phil. The truth is, she blocked his number from her phone, but he doesn’t need to know that, and him knowing that would probably make this conversation go on longer than she wants it too.

“I’ve been busy the last few weeks,” she says instead, and Phil’s scowl grows deeper.

“Erin, I’ve been trying to contact you for the last five months,” he says, and there’s a level of irritation in her voice that makes Erin (and Abby) bristle.

“Hello, hi,” Holtzmann says from her place beside Erin, and Erin looks over at her, surprised, as Holtzmann clambers up and over the back of the bench so she’s standing in front of Phil. She holds out a hand to shake, grinning cheerfully. “Holtzmann. Lovely to meet you, old chap.”

Phil looks down at Holtzmann’s hand like she’s offering him a piece of garbage. She lets her hand drop but still stays there, leaning back against the bench. “Whatcha need with Er?”

“I’m not having this conversation in front of other people, Erin,” Phil says tightly, and Erin sighs.

“Phil…I’m having lunch with my friends. Whatever you need to say, say it quickly.”

Phil’s faux-polite smile becomes even forced than it already is. His gaze flits from Holtzmann, who’s smile has become aggressively sunny, to Abby, who looks like she’s trying to melt his brain with her mind, to Patty, who’s watching this like it’s a massively entertaining TV show.

“I was thinking,” he says stiffly, arms held rigidly at his side, “that maybe we should go out for lunch soon. Talk things over.”

That’s not surprising. Really, Erin and Phil’s relationship was a bunch of tiny relationships; she would do something he found embarrassing, he would pretend he didn’t know her, she would be mad for about a week or so and then he would come back and apologize. And the cycle would repeat. Erin knows it wasn’t the healthiest of relationships to be in, but at that time she was so lonely. She had Abby, of course, and Abby is amazing and wonderful and Erin’s best friend, but they don’t spend every moment of every day together, and it is very, very lonely to sit alone in her apartment night after night, eating takeout and trying to pretend that she wasn’t desperately craving to have someone else be sitting across from her.

So, yes, she went back. She always went back. And maybe she would have come back this time, too, if not for the woman currently leaning against the back of the bench. And Erin makes a decision. She stands up and copies Holtzmann, climbing up over the back of the bench. She does it unsteadily, not with the quick feline graze that Holtzmann managed, and she nearly sprains her ankle when one of her heels sinks into the dirt, but Holtzmann steadies her with a hand on the small of her back. Erin straightens her jacket and stands up straight, looking Phil in the eye.

“No.”

“No?” Phil says, sounding both angry and shocked. Holtzmann gives her a gentle squeeze, encouraging her, and Erin takes a breath.

“No. I’m not doing this, Phil.” She tilts her chin up, wraps her own arm around Holtzmann to pull her closer. “I’m not going to come crawling back to you, not now, not ever. Plus…” she pulls Holtzmann so close that she gives a little squeak before relaxing against Erin, slinging her arm around her shoulders. “I’m in a relationship.”

Erin isn’t surprised about the disgust that crosses Phil’s face, but it’s still disappointing. He’s awful, of course, but she was hoping he wasn’t that awful. She knows Holtzmann sees it, too, because her fingers dig almost painfully into Erin’s shoulder, and her entire body stiffens.

“Erin,” Phil says slowly, “Are you one of _them_?”

Abby snarls something low under her breath behind them, and Erin’s pretty sure whatever she said was something distinctly unflattering.

“One of who, Phil?” Erin snarls, a dare in every word.

“One of the _gays_ ,” he says, back, and Erin’s fingers curl into fists.

“Okay, Phil, I WILL physically FIGHT YOU!”

Erin doesn’t turn around at Abby’s rage, but she hears a brief scuffling and she’s pretty sure that Patty just grabbed Abby to prevent her from flinging herself at Phil. Erin’s clutching Holtzmann like a lifeline, and Holtzmann is holding her back equally as tightly, glaring at Phil, face etched in an anger Erin wasn’t even aware the engineer was possible of.

“That’s not homophobic at all,” Holtzmann says, and the light tone of her voice has traces of anger beneath it.

Phil whirls. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

Several things happen all at once. Erin is filled with an all-consuming anger and she lunges forward, not even sure what she’s intending to do but Holtzmann holds her back and Patty grabs an arm while keeping Abby held back with her other hand, yelling about how Phil is too pasty to fight.

Phil scrambles backwards, stopping a few feet away. He smooths his jacket and straightens his tie, giving himself a quick shake, as if to calm himself down. He gives the four of them another sneering once-over, and turns his attention back to Erin.

“You should really be keeping better company, Erin,” he says, lip curling, staring pointedly at Holtzmann.

Erin’s vision goes red. She isn’t sure if she fights her way free or if Patty and Holtzmann let go of her, but suddenly she’s charging Phil, and he’s scrambling backwards. Her hands curl into fists and she swings.

There’s a crunch beneath her knuckles and her hand explodes with pain sharp enough to make her eyes water, and Phil is on the ground, blood _pouring_ from his nose.

“Oh my god, Erin!”

There are crowds of people gathering, and Patty is pulling Erin away. Erin cradles the hand she used to punch him against her chest. It’s swelling up, and she thinks she broke a bone.

“Hey, Er?” Holtzmann is there, gently tugging her away from the crowd. “Er, you’re all pale.”

“I punched him,” Erin whispers. Holtzmann, Abby, and Patty are shuffling her away as fast as possible, and Erin kind of feels like she’s going to throw up. She’s never been good with blood, and the fact that Phil is bleeding that much because of Erin makes her stomach churn. Even if he was being an asshole.

“Just get her out of here, okay?” Abby says, and Erin’s herded away.

-

Erin sits on her desk in her office, letting Holtzmann poke at her hand.

“I’m going to get fired,” She groans. She’s been kicking herself since she punched Phil. This isn’t going to be ignored. She punched a fellow professor in front of students, and she’s going to be punished. “I’m going to get fired, and nowhere else will hire me and I’ll have to move back in with Abby.”

“You’re not going to get fired,” Patty says. “We’ll all vouch for you.”

“That might not be enough.” She hisses as Holtz hits a particularly tender spot, and Holtzmann apologizes.

“I’d say you broke your hand.” Holtzmann says, pulling back. “Probably hit more with your knuckles and back of your hand than your fingers. Man, Phil must have a hard nose.”

Erin laughs, but the sound holds no amusement. Abby, from where she’s taken over Erin’s desk chair, speaks up.

“Erin, don’t feel bad about this. Honestly, if you hadn’t punched him, I think I might’ve.”

“Yeah,” Patty says from her place by the door. “And Erin, you’ve got one heck of a right hook. I mean, damn, girl! He went _down_. That was seriously impressive.”

And, finally, Erin turns to Holtzmann. Her girlfriend has been strangely quiet for the past few minutes, not meeting Erin’s eyes.

“Holtz?” Erin asks, carefully, and there’s a rock forming in her gut. She did something violent, and not only that, she did it in front of her girlfriend. Her kind, gentle girlfriend. What if it scared her?

Holtzmann sighs, softly, turning and finally meeting Erin’s eyes. “I feel bad.”

“Why do you feel bad?” Erin asks, shocked. “I’m the one who punched him.”

“He was insulting _me_ ,” Holtzmann says, “Not you. And you punched him standing up for me and now you’ve probably broken your hand and made him even more angry and it’s because of me. And you could get fired. Fired, Erin! I know you love this job, and now you might lose it because of me.”

“Holtz, no!” Erin moves forward, reaching out with her good hand. “Holtzmann, this is in no way your fault, okay? He’s an asshole, as Abby can attest-“

“Grade A asshat,” Abby says, nodding. “Winner of that particular competition of garbage humans.”

Erin gestures towards Abby, “And he was being extremely insulting about someone I love. Yes, I could have done something other than punch him, but I don’t regret standing up for you.”

Holtzmann closes her eyes for a second, and when she opens them, she takes a deep breath. “Okay. Okay.” She smiles at Erin. “Now, I think I should probably take you to the ER. Because your handing is rapidly starting to resemble a balloon.”

Patty winces. “I’m going to take that as my cue to leave. Hey, Abby, are you going with them or coming with me?”

Abby stands up and stretches. “I’ll come with you. If I have to watch these two being all lovey-dovey for any longer I’m going to puke from the sweetness.” As she passes, she gives Erin and encouraging squeeze on the shoulder.

“Ready?” Holtzmann asks, and Erin nods.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

-

Erin did break a bone in her hand, so now she’s sporting a cast. Holtzmann had insisted on it being a bright, electric green, and Erin had went along with it. Now she’s on her couch, exhausted after almost three hours of waiting in the ER, and now she just wants to sleep. Holtzmann settles down on the couch next to her, presenting a box of Chinese takeout with a flourish.

“For you, madam, the very best of New York cuisine.”

“Thanks,” Erin says, smiling. She balances the box on her lap, and they eat in silence for a couple of minutes.

“Hey, Erin?”

“Yeah?” Erin doesn’t look up from her noodles. It’s harder than it seems to use a fork with your nondominant hand.

“Did you really mean what you said? Back in your office?”

It takes Erin a moment to realize what Holtzmann is asking. The she remembers; a small word, a simple, four-letter word said without thinking, without hesitation, simply said. A four letter word that neither of them had used before then.

Erin doesn’t look up, thinks she may be afraid to, afraid to see the expression on Holtz’s face. “Yeah,” she says, poking at her food with her fork. “I think I did.”

“Oh,” Holtzmann says, and there’s something in her voice that makes Erin look up. Holtzmann is looking at her with a sharp, clear intensity that makes Erin’s stomach swoop.

“Is that…is that okay?”

“Erin. Er. Er-Bear.” Holtzmann takes Erin’s face in both her hands. “It’s okay. It’s more than okay. It’s fantastic. It’s amazing. Sure, it could have come at a better time, but I’m not blaming you for timing.” She strokes Erin’s cheek with a thumb, and Erin’s breath hitches at the contact. Holtzmann leans forward, brushing a gentle kiss against Erin’s lips. Before Erin can deepen the kiss, Holtzmann pulls back, just slightly.

“Erin Gilbert,” she breathes against Erin’s mouth. “I love you. I think I’ve been in love with you since I first saw you on that subway four months ago.”

“I think so, too,” Erin whispers back. Holtzmann rests her forehead against Erin’s, and Erin pulls her closer.

They don’t pull apart for a long, long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this chapter necessary for the plot? Not entirely, no, but I just really wanted to write Erin punching Phil. 
> 
> Just the epilogue left, which I'll be posting tomorrow.


	8. The End (of the Beginning)

Erin wonders, sometimes, what her life would be like now if Holtzmann hadn’t talked to her that night, after Pride. It’s probably be quieter, yes, and less busy, and there wouldn’t be as many fires, certainly (there have been an impressive amount of fires). But, there also wouldn’t be last minute dates and dancing in labs and offices and apartments. There would be no nights spent getting lost in each other’s touch and early mornings spent curled together under blankets, neither ready to get up and leave the other’s embrace behind. There would be no stolen kisses, no hands held, no goofy accents and teasing pick-up lines.

And, Erin thinks, as she watches Holtzmann bounce and laugh and cheer, her life would be so much duller, so much less colorful, without this weird, wild, wonderful woman who waltzed into it a year ago.

The crowd surges and roars around them, and Erin reaches for Holtzmann’s hand, threading their fingers together. Holtzmann tears her eyes from the parade, smiles at Erin and squeezes her fingers. There are flecks of star-shaped confetti on her cheeks, and Erin reaches up, brushes them away, careful not the smudge the rainbow flags painted painstakingly carefully on her cheeks.

The sounds of Pride roar around them, echoing in Erin’s ears. Everywhere she looks, there are people all joyfully _themselves_ , and she wonders why she was ever afraid of this. On her other side is Abby, an asexual and an aromatic flag painted on opposite cheeks, using Patty’s shoulder to boost herself higher to see over people’s heads. And a laughing Patty helps her up, a pansexual flag tied around her shoulders like a cape, and Erin smiles at her friends.

“Hey, Erin,” Holtzmann says, close to Erin’s hear so she can hear her.

“Yeah?”

“You carry a lot of tension in your shoulders.”

The words are familiar, but Erin can’t place why, until she sees her girlfriend’s wide grin. And, suddenly, she remembers, sitting on a subway as a wild-haired blonde uses the oddest pickup line Erin has ever heard.

“Tell me,” she says, bumping her shoulder against Holtzmann’s. “Are you still one hundred percent jazzed about meeting me?”

Holtzmann leans forward, kisses the corner of Erin’s mouth and breathes the words against her skin. “Of course I am,” she says, nuzzling into Erin’s chin. “How could I not be? You, Erin Gilbert, are fantastic.”

“You’re pretty fantastic, yourself.”

Holtzmann places another kiss to Erin’s jaw, and Erin leans against her girlfriend, resting her head on top of Holtzmann’s. Patty grins, noticing them, and elbows Abby. Abby turns and signs in a good-natured false annoyance.

“You two are giving me a cavity,” she fake-complains, reaching forward to drag them up, against the barrier between the crowd of people watching the street and the parade. “You guys are spending so much time looking at each other you’re missing the actual event.”

“Erin is the main event,” Holtzmann says, and Abby groans, linking her arm through Erin’s free one. Patty comes up on Holtzmann’s other side, slinging an arm around her shoulders, and they watch the parade, cheering and laughing along with the crowd.

And when the parade’s over, when the crowd is starting to thin, still loud, still joyful, but smaller, Erin looks at Holtzmann.

“Hey, are you wanting to do anything else?”

“I don’t know,” Holtzmann says. “Because I’d go to a bar with Abby and Patty, but I’d also like to go home and take these…” she reaches out, snaps a rainbow suspender that Erin borrowed from her. “Off.”

“Just the suspenders?” Erin teases, Holtzmann grabbing her hips and pulling her closer.

“Among other things.”

“Hey, lovebirds! You coming with?”

“Yeah!” Holtzmann calls over her shoulder, grinning at Erin. She grabs both Erin’s hands, dancing backwards to the music someone is still playing. Erin, laughing, allows herself to be spun in a circle, even though her laugh turns into a yelp when Holtzmann dips her unexpectedly. Holtzmann pulls her back upright, Erin still clutching at her arms, and places a kiss to the tip of her nose.

Then, she lets Erin go, and jogs over to where Abby and Patty are already halfway down the street. Erin smiles, breaking into a run to follow her. She links her elbow with Holtzmann, bumping her hip gently, and Holtzmann squeezes her arm, already in a conversation with Patty about if it would be a good idea for her to buy motorcycle (Patty’s thoughts are that Holtzmann is already too dangerous behind the wheel of a car, and should not be allowed anywhere near a motorcycle).

So, Erin just listens. And she watches. She watches the way Holtzmann’s lips tilt in a smile and her nose scrunches with amusement and the way she throws her entire body into speaking, gesturing and moving with every point she makes, and Erin falls a little more in love with each tiny detail.

Erin wonders, sometimes, what her life would be without Holtzmann in it, now that she knows her. Now that she loves her. And the thought, the consideration about this causes a pang deep in her chest, and she pulls Holtzmann closer.

She thinks of the ring, hidden in the bottom of her drawer. They’ve been dating a year, and it already feels like they’ve known each other a lifetime. And Erin knows, deep in her bones, that this is the person she wants to spend the rest of her life with. But she has time, and she knows this as Holtzmann smiles up at her, and Erin kisses her, tasting the cherry Chapstick she always wears and traces of waxy face paint.

Right now, caught up in the aftermath of Pride, it feels like they have forever. And forever with Holtzmann doesn’t sound so bad.

It doesn’t sound bad at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short little baby epilogue. 
> 
> Anyways, thank you guys SO MUCH for reading this little 'fic and for your kudos and bookmarks and kind comments and all the support. I seriously love you guys so much. <3 If you guys ever want to chat outside of AO3, you can find me on [Tumblr](https://ainewrites.tumblr.com/). Please, come say hi! 
> 
> And, once again, thank you so much!


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